It took me 9 years to get over turning 40. It wasn’t until I came face to face with a new decade that I began to appreciate the waning vision of my 40-something self in the rearview mirror.

We can probably agree that mourning the loss of years gone by and dreading an approaching age is a colossal waste of energy. And yet, to pretend that aging doesn’t suck to some degree seems disingenuous.

Show me a person who celebrates the onset of wrinkles and joint aches and I’ll show you a liar. Tell me I shouldn’t mourn a gradual loss of vision and hearing and I’ll tell you to piss off. Because at 50, I’ve traded a bit of decorum for frankness and I quite enjoy feeling free to speak my mind.

This more direct/less hesitant version of me can get herself into trouble with looser lips, but fortunately, she is invisible to almost everyone – irrelevant even – which allows for some space to experiment with expanded boundaries.

This passing year has kicked my ass for reasons related to stage of life rather than age. Some years are like that. It is this exact perspective – knowing that sometimes entire years can be clouded in darkness – that pulls me through to the other side.

A boon of middle-age is having enough life experience to know that bad times don’t last forever. When Life has grabbed you by the ankles a time or two and shaken you upside down until your pockets are emptied, you learn to take your licks without taking it personally.

This isn’t to say that I don’t sometimes feel like a little girl who wants to stomp her feet and cry her eyes out. I do, more than I’d like to admit. But for the most part, I’ve traded the privilege of falling apart in favor of maturity.

In fact, there are whole categories of behaviors and thought patterns that have been surrendered to decades past. Embarrassment, for example. It gets little air time because I’ve learned that it doesn’t serve any purpose other than to make me shrink into myself. I have no interest in becoming smaller. Besides, the foibles of life are my favorite stories to share.

Other gifts of aging require the donning of my strongest granny-glasses to detect. The inherent desire to slow down, for instance, disturbs my hyper-productive mind. I still want to do, do, do, but the wisdom inside begs me to just be. This increasingly sluggish pace affords time for noticing those things that a younger model might overlook. Like subtle kindnesses, or opportunities to help a fellow human, or wonderful synchronicities. Being slowed down, regardless of the fight we propose, allows us to reap the harvest of a different crop.

These days, aloneness is more rejuvenating than lonely. Choices are easier and are made with more conviction. I am more compassionate with myself and others. More forgiving. And free to experience life without wishing it were different.

Herein lies peace. Releasing the need for everything to be perfect in order to feel joy.

As birthdays go, I’m less inclined to celebrate the year and more apt to celebrate the moments. I don’t make birthday wishes anymore, I make birthday observations. From a distance, I can hear my 80-year-old self cheering me on and reminding me to say ‘thank you’ for the gifts that I will receive on this birthday, even if they look grey or wrinkled.

I don’t know what my 50’s will ask of me, but I do know that Life will conspire on my behalf and provide more than I could wish for.

Like this:

Sometimes I gaze at you – a beautiful, kind, mature young woman on the doorstep of adulthood – and I wonder what I did to deserve you.I recall the work of child-rearing sharply enough – the disciplining, advising, nurturing and consoling.But how it amounted to the miracle of you is a mystery.

You exceed any dream I could possibly have had.When you were born I tried to imagine who and what you would become, how I would support you, how I would fail you, and why life chose to put us together. But none of my predictions came close to describing all that unfolded.

I find myself wanting to reflect on our years together the way one wants to re-read a favorite story over and over.Even the strenuous parts capture my attention in a way that they didn’t the first time around because I know where the story is headed and how crucial every morsel is to the overall theme.

I see how the world is better because of you.I see how the future needs you.And I see that despite my efforts to show you, you don’t fully realize how valuable you are.

Graduation is an opportunity to indulge my desire to love you out loud.In concert with mothers everywhere, I proclaim my pride along with my gratitude for having had the privilege of raising a child.

Life must be smiling at itself for the job it’s done in creating you, us, all of it.Especially the love that perpetuates between us, filling the world with wonder.

As you make your way into the next chapter, far from my reach, know that there is nowhere you can go that my love can’t follow.I will be right here, holding a space in my heart that was carved out just for you.

Try not to begrudge the loss of the familiarity that you hold so dear.Keep moving forward in the way that you do, with a zest to experience everything, knowing that nothing is meant to last forever.

All that life wants from you is to say ‘yes’ to that which draws you out and brings you joy.May you find what you desire, and be alert to the surprises that await you.

Love,

Mom

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I dreamed of a sinkhole the size of a lake opening up in front of my car, leaving no way to get around it.It wasn’t at all clear what I should do.It never is when you’re confronted with a mammoth-sized crisis – which is exactly what’s happening in my waking life.

When one is in the middle of mayhem, it’s easy to feel helpless. Nevertheless, one must put on her big-girl panties and deal with the business at hand.When she does, she may discover a secret hiding in the darkness.

Being forced to deal with an enormous problem is a crash-course in mindfulness.The sheer size of the obstacle obstructs my view so that I am unable to notice anything else.That which would normally distract or annoy me – the traffic, the dishes left in the sink….has no power.I am here.Now.

Here, in this very moment, is where peace resides.Not in the future or the past.Even if the present looks like a monster looming, it’s only an illusion.There’s no need to escape – only to be still – so that the moment can show you what it has to offer.

In the past, I’ve tried to practice mindfulness but failed to achieve even a remote amount of satisfaction in the effort.Effort is exactly where it goes wrong, I’ve discovered.You can’t compel yourself into the present moment. You have to allow the moment to capture you.

One doesn’t arrive at this place without having to surrender.You cannot be both grasping and letting go simultaneously. If it takes a crisis to help you release into the now, welcome it.Drop your worries like hot potatoes.When you do, you will see that all is well.Truly.

Eventually, life will begin to look friendly, even in its ugliness, and you will see that there is a place beyond previous perception – a place where you can’t help but become more than you were.

Like this:

At 15 years old, you’d rather set your hair on fire than spend one minute talking with your parents about sex or anything remotely resembling the topic of ‘relations’ as grandmother used to call it.

Girls of my generation didn’t have to fear that the topic would arise at impromptu times, or at all for that matter. We were more likely to have an educational pamphlet strategically left on a bedroom dresser for our private discovery. Translation – ‘We shall never speak of such things with each other. Good luck.’

Sexuality was and is a taboo subject that makes for the most squirm-worthy encounters between parent and child. Much to my youngest daughter’s mortification, it is my parental mission to demystify the topic.

Our conversations began harmlessly enough when said 15 year old acquired a boyfriend.

“If you’re old enough to be in a relationship, you’re old enough to talk about it.” I told her.

Benign topics were introduced first with the utmost care to lure my daughter into the safe space of my good intentions. We, or mostly I, talked about respect, companionship, loving yourself….all the ingredients of basic attraction. When it came to the conversation titled ‘What makes a girl a slut?’ poor Peach couldn’t escape the conversation fast enough.

At family dinner, Peach’s older sister – having survived her own version of ‘the talks’ years prior – mercilessly opened the can of worms.

“I heard you cornered Peach in the car today.”

Silence.

Husband, unsuspecting soul, took the bait and asked why. Giggles from one side of the table met with groans from the other as sisters anticipated what would follow.

“Don’t,” Peach begged.

Sorry sweetheart, I must. How could I live with myself as a parent if I failed to enlighten my girl and prepare her for all that lay ahead?

“Sex,” I blurted out. “We’re talking about sex.”

Varying degrees of regretful reaction erupted around the table, abruptly ending dinner and sending Peach off to hide, again. Now that the ‘talks’ had been exposed to the masses, there was no sensible option other than full-on assault. It was open season on the Birds and the Bees.

Husband cued up his bluetooth speaker with the song Let’s Talk About Sex and blared it throughout the house, effectively reaching any hiding space in which Peach sought refuge. A song became a sing-a-long which became a dance party which ended with the ‘adultish’ family members in a fit of maniacal laughter.

We had abused the topic of sex with a level of extreme irreverence, hoping to push a reluctant teen past her squeamish barrier. Only the tiniest bit of guilt washed over me. I might have been inclined to doubt our guerrilla tactics if Peach had shown signs of PTSD. But in character with the resilient third child, she emerged intact without any mortal wounds to her psyche.

We all bear battle scars from adolescence. I’d rather have my child wounded by information than by ignorance. Besides, what fun would it be if she didn’t have a horrifying story to share with her own children someday?

They say that if you love something you must let it go.If it loves you in return, it will come back to you.I didn’t realize that I was counting on this when I sent my daughter off to college 4 years ago.

In theory, I had launched her into the world and was glad of it.But I failed to see the strand of hope that tethered me to her like the string on a kite soaring out of reach.

When my daughter announced that upon graduation she would travel 8000 miles away to teach in a third world country, the tension on the line that connects us tightened, begging me to release my remaining grip.

I indulged in sadness just once, crying briefly, then it was done.I had never been so forlorn about something that I endorse 100%.But history has taught me that my fears are poor predictors of reality, and that time spent on worry is always wasted.

It seems like yesterday that I left a teen daughter trembling at the entrance to Girls’ Leadership camp – a place she hesitantly agreed to attend for the summer preceding High School.My homespun girl needed to build courage and independence in adolescence.It was my job to help her find it, not to wait for a time when she felt ready.

As maturity set in for her, I ceased having to push her off the platform of certainty. Our roles reversed and it was I who felt reluctant about my daughter’s ever-expanding adventures.Like tearing apart velcro, I could feel the ripping each time she ventured farther into the big wide world. The beauty of velcro is that it can be joined and separated over and over and remain just as strong.

In time, I realized that I wasn’t losing a child to the world.Rather, I’d gained a scout through whom I would experience places and people I wouldn’t otherwise encounter. I would see life through my daughter’s eyes and share in her world no matter the miles between us.

I used to believe the adage that parents give their children wings to fly.In truth, children are born with wings and the instinct to use them.Flying isn’t taught but allowed.We can give nothing more than freedom.

When the fear of flight rises, it may take all the determination one can muster to release the restraints that bind us, and our loved ones, to the ground.It’s not until we truly let go that we can enjoy the reward in soaring.

Parenting is a noble prospect, rife with opportunity for personal growth.As we raise a child, we raise ourselves.Our mission, if we accept it, prompts us to evolve into far greater beings than we ever imagined, or wanted to be.

Unconditional love insists that we surrender our parental fears in order to fulfill a commitment to those who follow our lead.When we cooperate, we find that life has a way of unfolding in the most natural and perfect way.

Despite inherent uncertainty, there is peace waiting for us.We have only to release our grip on what we think we know in order to see life smiling at us and saying, “Trust me.I’ve got this.”

Without missing a beat, Husband replied, “Oh, good.I’ll send you the man-bills.”

Husband was referring to the hefty expenses that he and I shoulder for college attendance, an off-campus apartment, and a vehicle.

Beagle clarified that he qualified for man status because he acquired a dog.

For countless reasons that don’t need to be spelled out for the mature reader, I was horrified.

When Husband and I recovered from our shock, we breathed a sigh of relief that Beagle is practicing fatherhood on a canine instead of a human baby.Let’s be realistic, the news could have been entirely less welcome and the outcome, more life-altering.

I could have seen this coming.Beagle had threatened to take the family dog with him to college and he insisted on caring for her when we travelled. He loves dogs and is adequately versed on basic pet care.For what it’s worth, he has kept his fish alive for 10 years. (A fish that remains in my house due to its need for an unreasonably-sized tank.)But a dog of one’s own at college is a different beast altogether.

These are the occurrences that give a parent the chance to make good on vows to support a child.It’s easy to promise lifelong unconditional love when gazing at an innocent newborn who hasn’t crossed any lines.But can we show up for our kid when circumstances and choices challenge us?

I don’t love my child only when he makes super-smart decisions.And I don’t intend to bet against him.But I will draw boundary lines and muster up the conviction to stand by them.This is Beagle’s dog, not mine.He will make his mistakes, discover his limitations, and hopefully experience the joy and satisfaction that comes from caring for another. I’ll be at a distance, cheering him on, and watching as my boy unfolds into a man.

I hear your criticism, Dear One, and I get it. You want your grievance to solve something in the world, but it won’t. Its only power is to inform you. It speaks about you, TO you, but you’re not listening.You think the fault belongs to another.

This intolerance you feel toward the person, the practice, the system…sit with it before you try to give it away.Let it show you where you feel inadequate, unworthy, victimized, powerless, impatient, confused.

The blame that passes through you is the voice of all these misunderstandings in yourself.It seeps from your wounds and invades the air that you breathe.It colors your voice and clouds your thoughts.

Turn inward, you.Be not afraid to see the pain.Address it with respect and patience.Be open to its message.Allow yourself to forgive everyone and everything that unveils its part in the drama.

Only then will Clarity, previously uninvited, appear at your doorstep.Step aside and allow it entry.Once acquainted, you can’t help but fall in love.Fear will fade, anger will be replaced by understanding and compassion, and Peace will become your steady companion, your muse, and your power.